


You Always Should Have Known

by lady_krysis (saekhwa)



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Bodies and Body Parts, Canon Character of Color, Character Death Fix, Character of Color, Community: kink_bingo, Interracial Relationship, M/M, POV Character of Color, Wordcount: 1.000-3.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-05
Updated: 2011-07-05
Packaged: 2017-10-21 01:17:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/219298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saekhwa/pseuds/lady_krysis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Armando tries to get Alex to understand that he really can adapt to anything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Always Should Have Known

**Author's Note:**

> Minor, offhand reference to smoking weed. Written for [](http://kink-bingo.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**kink_bingo**](http://kink-bingo.dreamwidth.org/).

The top half of the mannequin goes flying into the wall, the lower half bursting into flames, and that's when Armando steps forward. "You still down here?"

Alex whips around, and it's not two seconds before he's grabbing Armando and trying to shove him out the door with a sharp, "Jesus, Darwin, get out of here."

"Hey, hey—" But Alex isn't listening. Armando grabs onto the door frame, trying to keep everything cool, but Alex doesn't let up. The change happens so quick that Armando's barely conscious of the fact that his body's melting, his torso shifting into something soft and formless. It has Alex backing up quick, staring, but the, "Hey, man!" gets his attention. Once Armando's got it, he grins and pats Alex's arm. "Listen, I'm down here to practice, too. We can help each other out."

"This isn't—"

Armando smoothes the wrinkles out of his new threads and then squeezes past Alex. "No need for the lecture. Erik already approved it."

He struts to the mannequin and gets a good look at the damage, swiping his finger through the fire and across the melted plastic. He doesn't feel a thing as he tips it over and kicks it out of the way. It's not going to be like that when Alex hits him, but he's ready after Shaw forced Alex's energy down his throat. It hadn't been anything like being choked. It hadn't been like anything ever, including getting electrocuted when he was eight.

After surviving what Shaw tried to do, Armando knows now that he can evolve to survive anything, which is pretty damn cool. He just has to get Alex on the same wavelength.

So he spins on his heels and flashes Alex a grin. "Let's do this."

Except Alex doesn't look so willing. His hands are balled into fists at his sides, his jaw clenched. "No," he says, and shakes his head and repeats it.

"Why not?"

Alex's face screws up even more, his mouth so thin that it's one neat slash. He mutters something under his breath that Armando doesn't come close to catching, but his interest drops the moment Alex folds in on himself, ready to fling the red halos.

Armando isn't going to deny the charge he gets watching this, being a part of this team, allowed to be whoever or whatever the hell he is. He claps his hands, rubbing them together like he's waiting for the pitch, anticipation building sweet and quick in his chest.

He's flying so high from the wait that he doesn't know what to do when Alex mumbles something and then rushes out of the bunker.

Armando's still waiting for the hit, but it doesn't take long for him to realize that Alex has cutout for real and isn't planning on coming back.

~*~

"Back off, Darwin."

"You serious?"

Apparently Alex is 'cause he's trying to split again. Before he can, Armando grabs his arm and blocks his way, looking Alex dead in the eyes to try to figure out what's going on in that head of his.

"Lay it on me, Alex. What's up? What's going on here?"

Alex answers with a sharp, "Leave me alone," and tries to shake loose of Armando's grip.

So Armando has to take a guess. "You know you can't hurt me, right?"

For a second, when Alex's hands come up, Armando thinks he's getting knocked on his ass for real, which will certainly be a new experience. Meeting Erik and Charles seems to brought a whole bagful of those. Then he realizes what's attacking his face isn't Alex's fist but his mouth, pressed hot against Armando's like this is a stickup and Alex wants all his air.

Armando's willing to roll with it, but then Alex is whispering, "Yes, I can," and cutting out like the pigs are on his tail.

"Okay," Armando says to the empty room, and wishes he could still get high. A joint is a great way to mellow the room, and Alex looks like he needs a lot of mellowing.

~*~

"If Shaw can't hurt me," he says, dropping onto the grass next to Alex, "neither can you."

Alex tugs up a clump of grass and dirt, his mouth tightening into another one of his angry frowns, determined to live his life way too pissed off and pent up. Whatever distant memory Alex is looking at right now, he doesn't share. Trials and tribulations, Armando thinks, and nudges Alex's arm to get him off the trip to memory land.

"I came back," he says, laying it out cool for Alex. "Just think about that."

Alex shakes his head and shoots to his feet, pitching away the clumps of dirt in his hand. "Whatever."

"Mixed signals," Armando murmurs, shaking his own head when Alex splits again.

~*~

Erik is one of those scary cats who's been through things that are hard to imagine, and he pushes and pushes until Armando's pretty sure he can't take anymore.

When he blinks, he's in the kitchen with no idea how he got there. He decides that since he's here, he may as well get some juice and make himself a sandwich. Charles will figure out where he is, and Armando deserves a break. A brother's got limits, even if it seems like he doesn't.

"I killed someone."

Armando turns around, startled, nearly knocking over his glass of juice, which would have been a damn shame. He manages to catch the glass and then looks at Alex, who's straddling a chair, elbows propped on the back of it, looking way too tense as always.

Not much to say to a line like that, so Armando goes with the first words that pop into his head. "You do that a lot?" And he figures that since he's got the juice out, he may as well be polite. "You want some?"

"Wha— No— Did you hear what I said?"

Armando shrugs, putting the juice back into the fridge. He leans against the counter and sips the juice, wondering if it's gourmet or if everything in Charles' house tastes naturally rich. "I heard you."

Alex bolts out of the chair, and Armando's glass slips to the floor. He doesn't even hear it break. He's focused on the way his body changes, too aware of it after Erik's training session. Every time he shifts, it's like a revelation, something he recognizes because of what's missing — mostly pain but also panic and fear. That's usually followed by awareness — gills, body armor, ash, metal, the bright energy that's part of Alex's mutation.

So Armando knows the counter is digging into the base of his spine, but it doesn't hurt. Neither do Alex's fists bunched in his shirt, messing up another set of threads. Evolved or not, mutant or whatever, he's tired, and while his mutation is really damn cool, Alex's isn't.

He shoves Alex off of him and pushes Alex again, hard enough to send him stumbling into the chair.

"I'm not scared of you," Armando tells him. "And you didn't kill anybody so cut the act." He turns and catches sight of the broken glass and spilled juice on the floor, but he's so disgusted with the sight of it that he just shakes his head and keeps on walking. "And clean up the mess. It's your damn fault."

~*~

He adapts in reaction to his environment. They've been able to figure out this much, at least, after a lot of setting Sean, Hank, Erik, _and_ Charles at him. Something happens; Armando adapts. Even before this whole training to save the world thing, Armando had a lot of childhood stories about it.

So when Charles puts Armando in the bunker with Alex, Armando, like the cool cat he is, leans against the wall while Alex glares at them.

"He _will_ survive this," Charles says. "You both will." Then he steps outside.

"You gonna lose your cool again?" Armando asks.

Alex's mouth thins and the muscles in his arms bunch up from the clench of his fists, but he shakes his head and gives a pointed, "No."

"Good." Armando straightens and starts heading to the other end of the bunker. "Let's get this over with."

Alex grabs his arm with a soft, "Wait." So Armando waits. An apology would be nice, and he could probably hold his breath waiting for it.

"I saw your face," Alex says, "when—" Alex doesn't finish, though.

Armando knocks his hand away and reminds Alex _once again_ , "I _adapted_. I'm alive, so praise Jesus, God, and the Holy Spirit, and stop freaking out, man."

Alex hunches his shoulders, averts his eyes, and still says, "I'm not freaking out."

"Whatever," Armando says, exasperated by this stupid back and forth that Alex wants to keep going. He grabs Alex's wrist and shoves Alex's hand up his shirt, placing it over his heart. "You feel that? _That's_ what being cool is all about." He places his own hand over Alex's heart, the thump-thump-thump twice as fast as his own. "This"—He taps Alex's chest—"definitely not cool, man."

They're caught in a staring match that Armando's pretty damn sure he would win, but it seems stupid to try to see if his mutation can win him something like that. _Finally_ all the tension in Alex's face crumbles, and he casts his eyes to the end of the bunker.

"Okay," Alex says, and nearly makes Armando jump when he slides his hand down Armando's chest. "Let's do this."

Armando nods, and with a grin, grabs Alex's shirt. His kiss is way smoother than Alex's was, and the dazed look on Alex's face makes Armando just a little bit smug. "I'm going to show you a thing or two," he promises, and then struts to the other end of the bunker.


End file.
